


A Curtain Call

by ellymango



Category: Ballerina | Leap! (2016)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Fan theory, Fix-It of Sorts, Found Family, Light Angst, Missing Scene, Sick Character, it gets shippy later on hoho, post audition scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-01-26 07:06:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 15,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12551888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellymango/pseuds/ellymango
Summary: Too angry to face her friends, too ashamed to go home to Odette, Félicie sits moping on the roof of the Opera House, feeling the winter cold start to take over her body as she drifts off tosleep...*Feeling ill with guilt and worry, Odette ventures out into the night to look for her dear student. Her search takes her to the steps of the Opera House, wondering if the girl may have gone inside...





	1. Cold

**Author's Note:**

> So here it is. The big one. The longest fic I've ever written.  
> (And I have no idea how to tag it since there's Meradette later on but it'll take a while to get there)

Cold. That’s all she felt. Absolutely freezing cold.

The cold had numbed whichever emotions had compelled Félicie to come up here in the first place. She knew she had felt sad, or angry, or frustrated or something like that, and now she just felt... numb. Numb on an emotional and physical level. She couldn’t feel her hands, her feet, her ears or nose... was she even cold anymore? She wasn’t shivering, as far as she knew.

She just knew she was cold. And had no energy to go inside.

She tucked herself up a little more, weakly rubbing her upper arms to try and eke warmth into her frozen body. She was falling asleep fast, and frankly she wasn’t sure if she wanted to just drift away or not. Sure it would mean forgetting everything that had happened that evening, as well as the looming humiliation that was her audition tomorrow, but sleep would leave her open to more cold...

Félicie realised she didn’t care much at all.

_She could barely hear her name being called by the time she succumbed to sleep..._


	2. Searching

Had she known that her little spat with Félicie would end in her limping around the cold streets of Paris at God-only-knows-o’clock at night, Odette would have put her foot down and kept her in. 

But here she was, hobbling around in the light of the streetlamps calling out Félicie’s name, more worried about the girl than she wanted to admit. Of course, the impending loss of her flat and job made her feel physically ill, but the fact her last interaction with the little girl had been so tense and bitter caused her to slouch over with shame.

Odette didn’t know _where_ Félicie had gone for the evening. She knew she was going out, with a friend from class, and that she _wouldn't_ be staying in to train like she was told to. For all she knew, Félicie might not even be in Paris tonight, unlikely as that seemed. Then again, this was the same child who’d travelled all the way from the Breton coast on a dream she didn’t know how to realise until she reached Paris. She wouldn’t put it past her to leave the city limits.

Whether by habit or intuition, Odette found herself standing in front of the Opera House, still brightly lit even at this hour. It couldn’t hurt to go inside. At best, she could find Félicie herself. If not, she could at least find someone else to help her search. 

With her shoulders tense and raised up to her ears, she felt less like a staff member and more like a lost beggar as she limped into the foyer, and had she been in a better frame of mind she would have cursed herself for neglecting her ballerina’s instinct to keep her back straight and her head high. 

The scope and grandeur of the foyer reminded her of the sheer size of the building, and how difficult finding one small child would be, even at this quiet hour. There were so many rooms to hide in, from classrooms to closets, and her heart sank as she realised there were far too many for her to check in just a single night.

She strained her ears, picking up the faint sound of a violin whispering from beyond the main door into the auditorium. Somebody was up training it seemed, and said somebody _might_ have seen or heard Félicie. The girl was prone to snooping and spying on the rehearsals of the older dancers, after all. She’d learnt that a while ago.

As she placed her hand on the door, ready to ease it open, she felt her etiquette pull her back, telling her not to interrupt and wait for whoever was inside to come out. But she didn’t know how long that would be.

And she felt as though she didn’t have much time to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yanno this whole fic was spawned from the idea of "hey why didn't Odette go looking for Félicie that one night?"


	3. Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's late. That's all she knows.

_She swore she could feel the sun on her cheeks, and when she opened her eyes she saw it was morning. Oddly, the skies over Paris were clear and sunny, yet the sky over the Opera was dark, foreboding._

_Then she remembered the audition._

_She didn’t know what the time even was but she just knew she was painfully late as she scrambled from the rooftop down to the changing rooms in a dizzying blur, feeling her heart race and her head pound with anxiety. She realised she had only seen the racks of dresses, yet before she even touched one she was changed and hopping down the hallway trying to tie her shoes. Had she fallen asleep in her dress...?_

_She finally stumbled onto the stage._

_The chairs in front of her seemed to stretch into infinity as she stared out at them in a daze. She saw Monsieur Mérante in the audience, staring at her with cold eyes and his watch in-hand, indicating her lateness. Beside him was that wonderful dancer Félicie unintentionally watched that one evening; what was her name again? Rose? Rosita? It was a flowery name anyway. She was still in full costume, only now her dress was black. Had it been black that night? She couldn’t remember._

_Mérante asked if she’d slept._

_She said not much._

_He asked if she’d trained._

_She said no._

_And with a sigh, he commanded her to start._


	4. Worry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look it's Mérante. And Rosita gets sideshafted like she does in the film oh well ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )

The door made an embarrassingly loud creak as she opened it, yet it wasn’t until she called out a rather weak-sounding “hello” that she caught the attention of those on stage.

“I hope you have a good reason for barging in.” Mérante’s voice was sharp and irritated, yet immediately softened as he realised who had just entered. “Odette...? You’re still working?” 

His confused frown morphed into concern as she drew closer to the stage and into the light, and he leapt from the stage and strode over, hands raised attentively to hover just above her shoulder. “Are you alright? You look...” He stopped himself before he could say “terrible.”

“I had an argument. With Félicie.” She didn’t meet his gaze, eyes trained on the floor. “She went out but... she hasn’t returned.”

He guided her into a theatre chair, and perched haphazardly on the arm. “Do you know where she is?”

“No. I’ve been out looking but...”

“Okay, okay...” He squeezed her shoulder. “What was the argument about?”

“She wanted to go out for the evening-“ 

Mérante interrupted, his head tilting down in bemusement. “She wanted to go out? Whatever for?” 

“I don’t know.” Odette slumped, propping her head up on her tense hand. She held her tongue, not mentioning how she had told her to go out of bitterness at the child’s attitude. Should she have drilled it in a bit more? _My job relies on this. Your so-called “dream” relies on this. My damn house relies on you getting this role. You are not going out tonight, you’re to stay in and train. That’s final._

She knew she was shaking now, and could feel tears of stressed worry leaning out of the corners of her eyes. “I should have kept her in...”

Mérante stood up, pacing about to alleviate his confusion, shock and mounting frustration. “I guess the only thing we can do is go looking for her.” He motioned to the dancer on stage. “Rosita, I have to leave early. Something’s come up. I hope you don’t mind.” 

She nodded and took her leave. Mérante turned back to Odette, gently tapping her shoulder to try and rouse her from her daze. “Do you want to sit a little longer?”

“No.” She heaved herself up. “We need to get going.”


	5. Failure

_The music began._

_Félicie didn’t know where it came from, but she automatically started dancing once she heard it. But something felt... off. She knew her steps, yet for some reason her body refused to cooperate, and she bounced around with the grace and finesse of a falling sandbag before falling flat, like a puppet with its strings cut._

_Monsieur Mérante commanded her to try again, despite the protests of Régine le Haute._

_But the same thing happened._

_She hit the ground again, crumpled and humiliated. She could feel the eyes of her audience locked on her, impatient and disappointed glares from Mérante and wicked smirks from her opponent. She’d lost. She’d failed._

_“Enough.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell where I'm going with this yet?


	6. The Russian Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They didn't know where she could be. But _he_ did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's blond, Russian and generally forgotten about by this fandom?

Usually Odette would have felt insulted by the supportive hand resting on her back. Yet tonight, with her limp far heavier than usual, she was more than thankful for it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have dragged you into this...” 

“It’s fine.” Mérante had slowed his usual brisk pace to walk alongside her. “I just don’t understand it. Why on Earth would she go out at this hour? And on _this_ night in particular?”

“I don’t know. She... mentioned something about a date with a friend but...” 

“I myself would have _demanded_ to know why she couldn’t reschedule.” He was in full stern-theatre mode by now, it seemed; his voice was dry and harsh, his stride long and powerful. Odette wasn’t sure if it was the fact he was technically still at work or the news that one of his finalists had skipped training for her extremely important audition in lieu of gallivanting with her friends which had switched him to this mood. But there was an intense urgency in his demeanour which she wasn’t quite used to. 

“You haven’t seen her, have you?” 

He shook his head. “I’ve been on stage all evening, and she didn’t interrupt us. I would have noticed.”

Bustling into the lobby, they were both equally surprised to see a blond haired boy snooping around like a nosy fox in an alleyway, who immediately jumped in shock when they entered. 

Mérante called down to him. “You there! Boy!” He looked up at them awkwardly. “Yes you! What do you think you’re doing here at this hour?”

The boy shifted, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Mérante called out again. “You’re the Russian, aren’t you?” He nodded. “Can you speak French?”

“Yes, I-” 

“Then answer me!”

“I’m... looking for someone.”

“And who are you looking for?”

“A friend.”

“Does your friend work here?”

“She’s a dancer.” 

That caught their attention. “Are you looking for Félicie?” Odette noted the hint of hope that came out with her voice.

The boy seemed to perk up. “Uh, yes mademoiselle.” 

“Were you the friend she was out with tonight?”

“Yes.”

“And why aren’t you still with her?”

He swallowed guiltily. “We got into an argument.”

“It seems your ward was in a bit of a temper this evening.” Mérante kept his voice at a low mumble only Odette could hear, before calling back down to the now-rather anxious looking Russian. “Do you know where she is?”

The boy swayed on his heel. “I think I do.”

“What do you mean you “think” you do?”

“I think I know where she might be.”

“And where is that?”

“On the roof, monsieur."


	7. Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean let's be real this is when the ending starts pulling out the big bullshit guns

_Félicie couldn’t comprehend what happened next._

_The role was handed to Camille, of course. She processed that much. But suddenly Régine had her wrist, and was dragging her from the stage and through the aisle, and before she knew it she was thrown hard into the back of a waiting carriage._

_Before she was thrown, she saw Odette._

_If anything could sting her more than failing her audition in such a disastrous and humiliating way, it was the fleeting glimpse of Odette as she whipped past. Her face was unreadable. Was she angry? Upset? Annoyed?_

_Félicie couldn’t describe how bad she felt. She’d been told to practice for her audition and she hadn’t. Somehow she thought it was a good idea to go out. And even that had backfired. Her night had been awful, start to finish._

_And now she had failed her audition._

_She collided with a hard surface._

Félicie flinched hard, falling onto her side. She was too cold to even shiver now, even with the icy metal against her equally frozen cheek. She should move inside, where it would be warmer...

But she couldn’t move.

She felt herself _slipping away again..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can ya tell where this is going yet?? :^D


	8. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yanno in the earliest drafts/brainstorms for this fic I had Mérante as a way bigger douchebag but I literally just couldn't get it to work right

Odette had forgotten how ill-tempered Mérante could be sometimes.

Of course, her years training alongside him had hardened her against his temper, and she wasn’t as shaken as she would have been ten years ago. The revelation that Félicie could be on the roof of the building had not boded well with the ballet master, and had let to a rather... brutal outburst.

_“The roof? What the Hell would she be doing on the roof?”_

_“We go up there all the time monsieur, we dance together and-”_

_“You go up there all the time?” The Russian boy had flinched at the sudden raise in volume in Mérante’s voice. “Don’t you know how dangerous that is? Do you know how many dancers have fallen from that roof? How many careers have been cut short?”_

_“I don’t m-monsieur...”_

_He was losing his hold on his temper now, and his voice sunk down to a vicious snarl. “I swear to God, if something’s happened to her...”_

_She stepped in. “That’s enough, Louis.” She felt his rage deflate as she touched his arm and he straightened back into his calm yet stern professionalism._

_“Fine. Take us to the roof, boy.”_

The Russian boy was now trailing along beside her like an ailing dog, his young face ashen and sallow and his eyes trembling on the verge of tears, and Odette couldn’t help but feel desperately sorry for him. She’d often see him in training, full of an almost infectious and sunny energy most dancers could only dream of achieving, yet now here he was, drained, miserable, and _shivering_ in fear. 

“Are you alright?” 

The boy jumped at her soft voice, shaking his head and blinking furiously. 

“You’re scared, aren’t you?” His shoulders squared and he nodded, swallowing thickly. 

“I didn’t know he could be... like that.” His voice was gravelly and fretful, and he looked up at her with eyes glassy with terror. Odette was surprised at how... disturbingly young the boy looked. Before tonight she would have pegged his age at eighteen, or twenty, someone in the full flush of youth and lightly experienced in life. But now, with his downcast eyes and trembling jaw she would say he was no older than fifteen. 

“I know. He’s... he’s probably scared. We all are.”

“What is he scared of?” He tried to revert back to his cocky and nonchalant façade, tried to scoff his line. He failed.

She pursed her lips. “What we’ll find on the roof.” 

Odette silently prayed to God Félicie wasn’t hurt in any way, holding her hand out to the boy and coaxing him over into a careful side hug. “It’s going to be fine. I’ll make a promise on that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this also kinda made me feel a bit bad for Rudolf too


	9. Trapped

_She could feel metal against her cheek._

_Félicie wasn’t sure where she was, but it was dark and cold. She sat up and dusted herself down, feeling the soft velvet and hard brocade of her favourite waistcoat. Did she change clothes? She could have sworn she was in her ballet clothes only moments ago..._

_She could feel the ground shaking slightly. Was she moving? Was she in a carriage of some sort?_

_That must have been it. She was in a metal carriage._

_She saw a window above her, a barred square just in front of her. When she sat up and peered out, she swore she could see the Opera House growing smaller and smaller, and she cried out, banging on the glass, howling to be let out..._

_But it only made the carriage go faster._

_And she could hear Odette crying her name._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean how else do you explain her leaving in her ballet clothes yet somehow having her normal clothes when she gets home (besides forgetful animators I mean count the number of times Odette teleports throughout the movie)


	10. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He finally found her. But not in the state he'd wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello yes do you like feels

Thankfully it wasn’t a too windy evening; else it would’ve been much colder than it already was. That at least eased his fluttering heart a little.

Rudolf had only come to the theatre to apologise for his... sub-par behaviour earlier. Ever since his outburst at the construction site he’d been trying to think of a suitable apology, made even more difficult by the fact he still wasn’t entirely fluent in French, and he was already nervous enough about his apology not sounding sincere enough, or sounding selfish or haughty. 

Now his biggest fear was the impending wrath of the head ballet instructor at the Opera.

Needless to say, he wasn’t in the best frame of mind as he fumbled around on the roof. Despite the lack of strong wind, the cold air bit at his face and hands until they were red, raw and dry, and he kept his step tentative and cautious lest there be ice or frost he couldn’t see.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he finally saw her.

Félicie was on her side, with her back towards him. She seemed so small and innocuous against the vast landscape of the Opera House roof, and had it not been for her shock of red hair Rudolf doubted he would have spied her as easily as he did. 

In a complete disregard of his own safety, he bounded over to the stricken girl, lifting her up onto his lap as though she were made of the most delicate china. She was limp as a cloth and colder than winter, and Rudolf felt his arms seize painfully as he lifted her. 

He started trembling, clutching her close against his body in an attempt to share his waning heat with her, cheek to frozen cheek. This was his fault. He’d been the aggressor back at the building site. He’d been the one to show her the way to the roof. He’d been the one who told her not to train that evening.

If it weren’t for him, she’d be safely inside training and not half frozen to death up here.

The tears on his cheeks did nothing to warm her.


	11. Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one be short

“Do you really think she’s out there?” 

“In this cold, I hope not.” Mérante stamped his shivers out, puffing himself up like a cold robin. “What on _Earth_ would possess her to come here at this hour...? It’s absolutely freezing.”

“You’ve said that about five times already.” 

He harrumphed, puffing out a cloud of hot breath before his shoulders drooped in pent-up worry. “I just hope she’s alright... how long has she been gone?”

“I don’t remember. She left at around... five I think.”

Mérante fished his watch out of his pocket, squinting to read the time. “It’s ten o’clock now. Five hours...”

Odette tuned him out, turning her attention to the window of the small attic room. The Russian boy had been out there for quite some time, and by now the atmosphere felt oppressively heavy and anxious as they waited in tense silence or forced conversation.

The sound of heavy footsteps became apparent, and Odette could just about make out the figure of the Russian boy staggering toward them, head bowed against the cold.

As he drew closer, she noticed he was carrying Félicie in his arms.

And she wasn’t moving.


	12. En Bretagne

_She was back in Brittany._

_Never before had her homeland felt so alien, and uncomfortable, and completely soulless. She felt so out of place here, so unused to the steady pace of life that she had lived for so long. Even her own natural Breton accent seemed out of place, having faked a Parisienne one on and off for the past few weeks._

_She swore she could hear the sisters and caretakers whispering about her, how downcast she seemed, how she’d lost her spirit and love of life. It wasn’t like them to be so concerned over her; usually they would just dismiss any misery as “orphan woes” and leave the children to comfort themselves._

_She couldn’t process how long she was there for. A week? A month? A few days? Time didn’t seem to be working for her, and everything seemed to move in a steady slow blur._

_Her dream came back to her one night._

_Only it continued beyond her music box falling._

_A beautiful woman with fire-red hair swept the box from the sky._

_Almost instinctively, Félicie knew she was her mother._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is she taken to Brittany anyway? It's like 6 hours away from Paris it's so inconvenient.


	13. Hasten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yanno I actually had Odette clobber Mérante with her stick in the earliest drafts of this scene but ehhhhh I couldn't do it. Couldn't do it!  
> So have some feelies instead :^D

Odette had been expecting a more volatile reaction from Mérante when the Russian boy finally staggered in through the window cradling Félicie’s cold, limp body. She didn’t know how to react, honestly; shock horror and cold hard guilt seemed to have dulled any emotion she could express.

Mérante marched up to the quivering boy, thankfully seeming more worried than angry. “Is she alive at least?”

The boy gulped. “Y-yes, monsieur.” 

Mérante pursed his lips, gently cupping her face with his palm to her cheek, his expression softening slightly when he felt the weak pulse at her neck against his fingertips.

“She’s like ice... how long has she been out there?”

“I-I don’t know...”

“Well, when did you split up?”

“I’m not sure. Around seven maybe?”

“And this is why gentlemen carry a watch. Take note, _boy_.” He turned his back sharply, stepping towards the door.

The boy swallowed thickly, his voice stammering and desperate. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know she would come up here at night!”

Mérante whipped round. “You shouldn’t have told her she could come up here in the first place!”

“I’m sorry!” The boy’s ability to speak French drifted off with his voice, and he sobbed incoherently, tears flowing from his eyes as freely as water from a pump.

Mérante glowered at the shivering Russian boy, pacing the room with his shoulders squared and cane behind his back, tapping at his heels. “The theatre doctor wouldn’t be here at this hour. Not that he’d know much about... _this_.” He made a haphazard motion to Félicie and sighed, his aura fierce yet tired. “We’ll take her to my apartment. I’ll contact a doctor as soon as I can tomorrow morning. In the meantime...” He held his arms out. “Give her to me, boy.”

“Wait.”

Both of them turned to Odette, who’d remained silent as a mute swan since the boy came in. “Odette, we’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

“Just... wait.” She hobbled over, her limp much worse than usual, as she pulled her woollen shawl from her shoulders and as carefully as though she were made from thin glass, lifted Félicie into her arms and wrapped her shawl around her.

“I’m sorry,” she stroked the child’s back, nuzzling her hair and squeezing her eyes shut to keep her tears in. “I just felt like I needed to hold her...”


	14. The Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knew why she danced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I fucken love the song in this sequence. Rest of the scene is bullshit though.

_She was dancing._

_Her mother was dancing, smoothly and effortlessly, casually tossing the music box up into the air and catching it. The child in her arms watched in awe, eyes wide and bright, and something told Félicie that that child must have been her._

_Something clicked in her mind as she watched her mother’s slow and graceful spinning._

_She knew the answer to Odette’s question._

_She knew why she danced._

_Her mother had danced._

_And so she danced. It was only in her nature that she’d want to chase this long hidden memory, and follow in her mother’s footsteps after all._

_She woke up excited and fully clothed, her heart fluttering like a butterfly in a jar as she reached under her bed to find a white box. Opening the lid revealed a pair of brand new cream-coloured pointes, fully prepped for performance._

_She donned the shoes, immediately flinging herself up to stretch and warm up, completely alone in the dorm room. It seemed strange how there were no other children around, though in her sudden burst of inspiration Félicie just assumed they’d left for morning roll call._

_She knew she’d be in trouble for not attending the roll-call, but it didn’t bother her as she stretched before starting her dance around the room, somehow finding herself climbing the bell tower and out onto the narrow, mossy roof. She didn’t quite notice how eerily empty the yard was._

_Never before had she felt so attached to dance as she pranced across the usually slippery and mossy roof with ease._

_She needed to get back to Paris. And she needed to get there soon._

_Suddenly, it was night time, and she was creeping down the hallway so as not to disturb anyone..._

_And then heard a door fly open behind her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still call bullshit on that reason tbh


	15. Odette Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey a chapter that _isn't_ less than 400 words! 
> 
> Also this is where it starts getting shippier. Because I couldn't keep the Meradette outta this one ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )

“Where are we going?”

Mérante didn’t stop, striding off down a corridor rather than towards the lobby, haphazardly cradling Félicie in one arm, with her cheek pressed against his shoulder. “We need to get her warmed up as soon as possible.” He wrestled with one of the doors, unable to force it open. “I think we’d be better off staying here for the time being.” 

She finally managed to catch up with him, despite the stiffness in her hip. “So, we’re not going to your flat?”

“Not right now, no.” He paused before trying the second door. “Do... you know which one of these has the fireplace?”

“Of course.” Odette slipped in front of him, counting the doors to find the correct one with her cleaner’s keys in hand, and finally clicking it open as Mérante adjusted the position of the sleeping girl in his arms.

He stepped in ahead of her. “Aha, perfect. Looks like it hasn’t been used in a while too. Hopefully nobody will disturb us then.”

“I think the only visitors we can expect tonight would be ghosts.” Odette muttered into herself as she trailed after him into the ornate dressing room, watching him lay the unconscious child on a chaise lounge before standing up and facing her.

“You stay here with her. I’ll go find blankets.” He motioned to the Russian. “Boy, you come with me.” 

As they left, she heard him mutter, “Hopefully we’ll be able to get into the other dressing rooms...”

And then she was alone.

She’d gotten used to being alone over the years. She didn’t particularly enjoy it, nor did she dislike it much, but she was used to being by herself almost constantly. Juggling two cleaning jobs ate up a lot of her time after all, leaving her with little to herself. Honestly the only free time she seemed to have was for church on Sunday morning, where she’d meet up with her long time friends and neighbours, and maybe even detour through the Polish quarter on her way back to work. But that was it. The only social time she had.

And despite being so used to it, being alone had never felt so damn awful. 

She limped over to Félicie, removing her black overskirt and shawl and laying them over her, kneeling down to brush the loose strands of hair out of her porcelain face with a long and shaky sigh.

“Why on Earth did you go out?” Her voice would have been bitter, cold, that “I told you so” tone of a parent when their child does something stupid. But instead it came across as soft, exhausted, too worried to be annoyed. “Of all the evenings to go out, you had to choose tonight...” Odette stroked the back of her head, easing wisps of auburn hair out of its braid. “Didn’t you know about the deal? That I... I would...” She couldn’t continue as the realisation dawned on her.

She’d lost her flat.

She was essentially homeless.

She sank, losing her ability to kneel and letting herself fall into a side-sitting position, propping her head up with the heel of her hand as she felt the last of her energy drain out of her. Her right hand slipped down to press against her stomach, trying to relieve her building nausea, and her left arm trembled under the weight of her head. 

She slapped herself mentally, wearily smoothing her now dishevelled hair back. Finding a new flat was tomorrow’s issue. For now, her biggest problem was the unconscious and frozen child right in front of her. 

She put her hand to Félicie’s cheek, wincing at how numbingly cold she was. She needed to be warmed fast. They couldn’t wait for Mérante to return.

Odette tugged at the knot on her waistcoat, loosening the lace enough to pull it off, and then unbuttoned and removed Félicie’s, replacing it with her own and pulling the laces to be comfortably close. At least her waistcoat was warm.

She heaved herself onto the couch, pulling Félicie into a hug from behind, pressing her head into her chest and rubbing her arms, side and back vigorously in an attempt to eke whatever warmth she could into her. 

She must have fallen asleep and blotted out all sound around her, as she didn’t hear Mérante re-entering until she felt his rough yet gentle hand stroking her cheek. She stirred, heaving herself up groggily into a sitting position, still holding a now slightly less frozen Félicie against her chest. 

“Louis...?” She yawned widely, rubbing her eyes. “Oh heavens, did I fall asleep...?”

“You must have.” He gently pried Félicie from Odette, sitting her upright to wrap her in a thick quilt blanket.

“Where did you find that?”

“The operas require quite a few props. You’d be surprised what you can find backstage.” He added under his breath, “I’m not sure if they’re just irresponsible enough to not tidy anything away or if that Russian boy snoops more than he should.”

Odette looked around, realising the boy was nowhere to be seen. “Where did he go...?”

“I told him to go home. He seemed rather eager to get away from me.”

_Can’t imagine why. _She eyed a basket of newspapers a few feet away from her. “What are those for?”__

__“Hm? Oh, I was thinking we could maybe light a fire...” He motioned to the covered fireplace behind him. “I couldn’t get into the other dressing rooms though. I was hoping to find wood or coal or something.”_ _

__Odette perked up slightly, dipping into her apron pocket and fishing out a ring of keys. She selected one and passed it into the curious hand of her partner. “This one should open all the dressing rooms. If not, try the one with the blue circle on it. Oh, and watch out for room three; the door tends to jam sometimes.”_ _

__“Why... do you have this?”_ _

__She stared blankly. “Cleaning staff, Louis. We all have keys.”_ _

__“Oh, God, of course.” He laughed weakly before sighing. “God it’s too late.”_ _

__“If you want to sleep, then sleep. Don’t worry about the fire.”_ _

__“I’ll only be gone a few minutes.” And with that, he was off again._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I headcanon that Odette is Polish, but has lived in France ever since she was quite young. No reason other than I think it fits ^^ 
> 
> (And also bilingual OTP's are my jam everyone who's read my Origin stuff knows that)
> 
> And say bye-bye to Rudolf too because he's off.


	16. Return to Paris

_She had never expected Monsieur Luteau would ever aid her escape._

_Yet here they were, racing through the night across the countryside on his motorbike, blazing into Paris far faster than she had been expecting. How far was Carnac from Paris? She didn’t know._

_They pulled up in front of the Opera House just as the sun was rising. Félicie threw her arms around his neck, thanking him before sprinting into the theatre. It was oddly quiet, and nobody was around to stop or see her barrelling through the lobby, the hallways, into the wings... why she didn’t go through the main door and down the aisle. Something compelled her to take the long route, arriving on stage via the wings as she did on her first night in Paris._

_She saw Odette on the stage. Completely alone and sombre as she polished the wooden floor absently._

_Félicie wasn’t sure how to approach her, how to apologise aptly for what she’d done. Honestly she felt nervous and jittery, knowing full well there was a high chance she wouldn’t be forgiven._

_She crept out from the wings, her footsteps unusually quiet despite her wearing her hard boots, yet Odette still looked up at her, eyes big and confused and trying to process how the girl had made it back._

_“Hey.”_

_She tried to re-introduce herself, jokingly using the same words she had when she’d arrived and tried to convince Odette to let her stay with her. But she gave up._

_“I need you...”_

_And ran, sliding on her knees across the stage and into a hug warmer than a thick winter quilt._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my only regrets for this fic is that Félicie and Odette don't really get to have that beautiful emotional hug scene on stage... 
> 
> But it's a small price to pay if I can brush off the rest of the bullshit as being a dream ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )


	17. Mérante's Offer

With the fire warm at her back, Odette felt a little more at ease than she did earlier. Félicie was still unconscious, but a soft peachiness was beginning to return to her snow white skin and though she was still not comfortably warm, she wasn’t quite as bitterly cold as she had been just hours before. That was a good sign at least.

At her insistence, Mérante had taken the opportunity to sleep, but at his insistence he’d stayed with her, opting to sleep on another chaise longue. _“Wake me in the morning,”_ he’d told her, _“I would expect I’ll be needing a shower...”_

He had his back to her now, softly snoring and snuffling in his sleep like a horse. Even though the room was now much warmer than it had been, Odette still kept his heavy jacket over her shoulders, even wrapping it around herself till she felt prickly and tingly. The collar of the coat smelled ever so faintly of the Maître’s cologne, sweat and the grooming products he used to keep his beard prim, and she found it comforting in a way, as though she were being enveloped in a tender hug from behind.

She stroked Félicie's cheek, her calmer mind drifting back to a conversation she and Mérante had has less than an hour ago.

_She’d jumped slightly when he touched her shoulder, rousing her from the daze she’d slipped into. “Odette? Can we talk for a moment?”_

_She sat round to face him. “Of course.”_

_“Odette, I know it’s a little soon, but... do you have anywhere to stay?” From the way her face fell, he knew she didn’t. “You know... you can move in with me if you'd like. Both of you.”_

_She frowned, unsure of if she was too tired to understand. “What...?”_

_“Well, she won’t be able to audition tomorrow.” He motioned to Félicie. “Which reminds me, I need to find that other girl, the English one, and have her audition instead... what was her name again? Nora?”_

_She blanked that question. “Why are you...”_

_“Well...” He sighed, rubbing his neck. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? I made that deal after all, the least I can do is offer you residence.”_

_“It was never your fault, Louis.” She stroked Félicie’s hair, her eyes closing slowly. “I can’t even say it was my own fault. I didn’t know she had stolen Camille’s invite.”_

_“It was nobody’s fault.” He placed a hand on her back, firmly yet gently trying to rub the tension out of her stiff shoulders. “But my offer still stands. Would you like to stay with me? At least until you find another flat.”_

_She bit her lip. “I'm... I’m not sure. What if people think-“_

_“Ah.” He stroked his beard in thought. ”Well... oh! How about one of the old classrooms here then? If I have beds set up then you can live here quite easily.”_

_She sat up, contemplating this new offer. “Maybe.” A room in the Opera House attic would not be particularly comfortable, sure. But it was convenient, not to mention rent-free, and would at least provide a roof for them until she could find another flat._

_“Well think about it. And think about staying with me too.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do wonder if Odette really knew about Félicie stealing the invite. I personally like to think that she didn't, and just assumed Félicie was a rich child like Camille after seeing her in the ballet class and assumed she'd lied about being an orphan. That's my two cents anyway.


	18. Victor

_Félicie didn’t remember running to Gustav Eiffel’s workshop. If anything she seemed to have gone from standing on the stage with Odette to being here, standing in front of a heavy workbench, looking for Victor who was nowhere to be seen._

_She suspected he was still sulking over their botched date, and their bitter last encounter, yet it wasn’t at all like him to hide from her when he had an issue._

_From the behaviour of that awkward friend of his, Félicie assumed Victor was hiding somewhere else in the room, so he could eavesdrop on their conversation. Now that... was definitely something she knew he would do._

_Félicie hadn’t spent enough time with the friend to gauge his personality. Had he always been such a jabbering awkward mess? What did Victor see in this boy? Are these the friends boys make when their girl friends aren’t around?_

_At one point in his nervous tizz, the friend knocked a wrench off the desk. Félicie retrieved it for him, spying her still-sulking friend._

_She apologised profusely for the date, how she’d just ignored him and treated him unkindly ever since they’d reached Paris and parted ways. She felt terrible, really, though thought it was odd how he was still sulking and not worried sick over not seeing her in so long. How long had she been in Brittany anyway? It wasn’t like him to sulk for any longer than a week._

_Suddenly, she heard him apologise from under the table. That eased her mind at least._

_As she stood up, she noticed Victor’s hand pop out from under the desk, and leave her newly-fixed music box on top. She collected it, turned, and left, throwing one last apology over her shoulder._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact my brain deleted every scene with Victor in it after I first watched this movie which may be why this scene isn't entirely accurate  
> Not that I care much because he was pretty pointless anyway ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	19. Tirade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mérante finally has the chance to speak to Félicie, and says things better left unsaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually my favourite scene in this whole fic, and yes I have it all finished :'D I just loved writing this scene, it felt so... cathartic.

Mérante locked the door behind him to deter anyone from trying to enter, removing and carefully draping his jacket over the shoulders of a now peacefully snoozing Odette. The auditions had taken longer than he’d expected; bogged down by the hassle of finding his third place student to compete, dealing with the conflicting opinions of his fellow producers and calming the rage of a certain socialite, and then immediately after _that_ he’d taken the time to reassign or complete some of Odette’s morning chores, because Lord knew she wouldn’t be able to complete them.

Ironically, choosing his lead role was the _easiest_ part of his morning.

He glanced over to a gaudy and decidedly ugly clock on the mantelpiece. Quarter to one, it said, and a quick glance down at his watch confirmed the time. Mérante wasn’t sure if it was later or earlier than he expected. 

With a deep, frustrated groan, he sat down on the arm of the chaise, sighing deeply as his weary eyes flicked between the sleeping child and the hideously-papered wall in front of him.

“You know, I... I would have thrown you out on the first day, had I known who you really were. And the only reason I let you stay was...” He firmly rubbed the thin bridge of his nose, his voice growling as he spoke. “Let’s just say you hear rumours about some of the patrons. And what they do when they don’t get what they want.” It wasn’t even much of a rumour. He’d seen first-hand the wrath of Régine le Haute on multiple occasions, and judging by her outburst today he dreaded to think what would have happened to Camille (or himself for that matter) had he not offered her an equally important role as the Queen of the Snowflakes. 

He added under his breath. “Had you not been impersonating Camille then... you wouldn’t have made it that far at all.”

As he palmed face wearily, he felt his stressed nerves begin to fray. "What were you thinking, child? Why did you go out, on tonight of all nights...?”

Mérante flung himself up to pace the room, head down on par with his shoulders and hands tight behind his back. “You have such a ridiculous amount of potential, it hurts me that you just...” He tensed up, grasping a fistful of his slick black hair and scrunching it back into its naturally curly state as his voice fell to a growl. “You just didn’t care at all, did you?”

He turned to face her with a flourish, his face pained and bitter. “I bent over _backwards_ for you. I should have had you caned and sent back to where you came from the moment your cover was blown. Yet I kept you on. And do you know _why_?” He made a haphazard motion towards Odette, who shifted slightly in her sleep. “Because of her. Had she not been your guardian, I would have dragged you to the nearest orphanage _myself_.” His tense hands pointed fiercely against his chest as he spoke. “And _this_ is how you thank me? How you thank her? By not even _bothering_ to train? Don’t you know the hassle you’ve caused for us both?” 

His voice reached a crescendo before he stopped, the room falling silent save for the ticking of the ugly clock and _pap-pap-pap_ of nosy footsteps walking by. 

Mérante heaved with agitation, looking down at the still, flushed face of the sickly girl and sighed, his sudden burst of rage give way to his conscience and a wave of crushing guilt. "I'm sorry, that was all very harsh..." He sat down again, slumping over into a position he would usually never let himself fall into and roughly running his hand through his hair. “I... I let myself be carried away sometimes. Anyone will tell you that.”

A tired smile spread across his face as he reached down to gently stroke her cheek. “Honestly I should be thanking you. You wouldn’t have noticed but... Odette’s changed since you’ve been around. It’s like she’s returned to her old self, before...” He swallowed thickly. “Before the fire.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “And you do genuinely have a lot of potential and energy. Maybe not as a ballet dancer but... you’ll make a career out of dancing. I know you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway through this fic! I think. I haven't counted all the chapters though this is on page 16 out of 32 on my Word document so I imagine we're halfway there.
> 
> I haven't been getting any comments on this fic, despite it raking in the kudos though. What do you all think so far? Do you like this idea? Or would you all prefer me to feck off back to writing Meradette? XD


	20. Battle!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help myself with the title XD

_“She lacks your passion,” Odette had told her._

_And now she was seeing it first-hand._

_Seeing her bully being berated on stage felt cathartic, and Félicie couldn’t help but smirk as she watched the scene unfold. She’d never seen Monsieur Mérante so agitated; even back on her first day of class he’d been calmer._

_He dismissed the rehearsal, uttering something about how Camille would need to find her emotion before tonight. Tonight? Was tonight really Christmas Eve? That meant she’d missed her own birthday..._

_Odette tapped her shoulder. “I’ll go clean the lobby. You clean the stage.”_

_Félicie nodded, making her way onto the vast stage, vaguely aware of how she was no longer wearing her heavy boots and instead wore black slippers instead. She immediately noticed a discarded shoebox dead centre, spilling out its contents of ivory pointe shoes. What was that doing there? It couldn’t have just been on stage, right?_

_She heard a familiar voice from behind her._

_Turning around, she saw Camille approaching, her trademark snooty smirk on her lips. She was still wearing her rehearsal clothes and pointes. Why hadn’t she changed?_

_As she approached, Félicie’s music box let off an inappropriately-timed chime, and like a cat after a piece of string, Camille lunged for it, threatening to throw it again before Félicie managed to snatch it off her._

_She and Camille locked eyes, and started circling the box of shoes on full pointe. Somehow it didn’t hurt at all, despite her black slippers being not at all suitable for pointework, having no box, shank nor ribbons. How was she even able to stand en pointe?_

_Their moves became more and more extravagant as they slung insults back and forth, and they drew closer and closer until..._

_Camille leapt back and launched several high kicks towards Félicie’s face._

_And in that moment Félicie knew they were locked in a dance battle._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick hc: Félicie's birthday is December 14th (Which I'm pretty sure was the movie's release date in France)
> 
> Also strap yourselves in folks this is where the _real_ bullshit starts ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )


	21. Musings

“Did I fall asleep again...?”

Mérante looked up from the last-minute choreography notes he’d been trying to perfect. “You must have. You were sleeping when I came back, put it that way.” 

Odette stifled a yawn, sitting upright with her hands on her now very stiff and sore lower back with a pained groan. Maybe sitting on the hard, threadbare floor besides Félicie’s couch wasn’t such a good idea after all. “When was that?”

“About...” He dipped into his pocket to find his watch. “Half an hour ago I think? I haven’t been keeping track of time, forgive me.”

Odette nodded weakly, resisting the urge to rest her pounding head on the couch as she realised that her right hip was locked into place. _Wonderful._ “How were the auditions?”

Mérante’s exasperated sigh and eye roll said it all. _“Dramatic.”_

“And you only had two girls to audition.” Had she not been so sleepy she probably would have given him a well-deserved ribbing for whittling down his class till he only had two students to choose his lead role from. But that could wait. Possibly until tomorrow.

“Did... she get the role? Camille, I mean.”

“No.” He pursed his lips, realising how dry they felt. “You know she’s... an odd case, is Camille. Have you seen her dance?”

“Of course. I lived with her for years, Louis.” And not one of those years went by without Régine wheeling out her prized dancing pet to impress her various guests. Christmas, New Year’s Eve, birthdays, weddings... she always managed to find an excuse to make the girl dance. 

“Oh, God, of course you did.” He wearily rubbed in between his eyes. “I’m sorry, my mind is completely frazzled at the moment.”

“Mine is too, don’t worry.” She finally managed to stretch out her right leg, her hip clicking with a loud _pop._

Mérante feigned concern, though he barely looked up. “That sounded painful.” 

“It was.” She winced, manoeuvring her leg around to loosen her naturally stiff joint. “But you were asking about Camille...?”

“Oh, yes.” He gave up on finishing his notes, deciding to let his mind rest for a while before tackling them again. “What do you think of her dancing? Would you say she’s good?”

Odette sat up straight. “She’s excellent. At dancing, I mean. I’ve never seen her portray a character before, though.”

“That’s because she can’t. At least, not well.” He concentrated his fatigued mind on finding the best way to describe her. “It’s like she hasn’t been taught about mime. Her technique is flawless, her musicality is solid but her acting and mime is...” He winced at how close yet so far she was from being the perfect dancer everyone told him about. “If I could just get her coached on it...” 

His eyes moved to Félicie with a weary sigh. “She would have been excellent for this role, honestly. She’s not perfect at all but... I feel that’s what this role needs.”

Odette frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, she’d be playing an excited little girl on Christmas Eve. Hardly the most taxing of acting roles, I’m sure you’ll agree.” His expression softened. “But she has something about her style that I think would suit the role. She’s so bright, and bonny, and energetic. I would have quite liked to see her in action.” 

Odette kept her gaze carefully trained on her student’s face. “What’s done is done. You gave that other child the role. Don’t strip it from her just because Félicie is _my_ student.”

“I never said I would.” 

“You were thinking it though.”

Mérante cleared his throat nervously, lips pursing as he thought of a way to change the subject. “I’m afraid I... couldn’t convince Régine not to sack you.”

She turned her head to face him, raising her eyebrows sleepily. “I’m surprised you even tried to argue with her.”

“Well I... I tried telling her that I would bar Camille from the show if she sacked you-”

“Oh Louis, that’s terribly unfair...”

“And that’s exactly what everyone else told me.” He winced. “Almost as soon as I said it.” 

_Good heavens man, you can’t just ban her from performing!_  
_Monsieur, if I may interject, barring that girl over a sacked housemaid isn’t exactly fair..._  
_Well if you bar her, I... I’ll bar the whole show!_

He cringed internally at the impromptu shaming he’d received, thanking the Lord in Heaven above that his colleagues weren’t around when he made the deal in the first place, and turned his attention back to a still-drowsy Odette. “But she wouldn’t listen. So my original offer still stands...”

He was cut off by Félicie shifting in her sleep, making a soft whimpering noise like a baby. “How has she been, anyway? Did the doctor come by?”

“I was barely awake when he did.” Her brows furrowed as she tried to recall what her half-asleep mind remembered. “He wasn’t here for that long. Said her temperature was normal and then... left.” She turned her attention to the sleeping girl, absently curling a stray lock of hair around in her fingers before tucking it back. Though she hadn’t tossed around much during the night, her plait was scruffy and unkempt from sleep, and loose curls were splayed around her flushed face and surrounding pillows. “She feels warmer than she did last night.”

Mérante stood up from his armchair, flexing his back and shoulders before he crossed over to the chaise longue in a single stride, leaning over Félicie to stroke her forehead and cheek. “She certainly is. Should we take her to my flat? I can imagine someone’s going to want their dressing room back...”

Almost on cue, there was a light, shy knock on the door and the door knob wriggled in vain. A small voice called out, just loud enough to be heard. Mérante’s brow furrowed.

“That... sounds like Camille.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are perfection also yes Mérante deserves to be terrored over his crappy teaching methods
> 
> And thank you all for your comments! I was honestly overwhelmed by how many I got last time :'D


	22. Leap of Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel my brain switches off during this scene and all I focus on is the song.
> 
> Also that jump is impossible no matter which way you turn it >:c

_Félicie had never felt so alive._

_Despite not having danced in Lord knows how long and not even wearing the correct footwear, she found herself dancing better than she ever had before, performing feats she never expected herself to be capable of. Come to think of it, she was performing better than her pointe-perfect opponent. How had her skill increased that much? She hadn’t danced in weeks!_

_Without warning or signalling, they both turned and started bounding across the theatre chairs in perfect synch with each other as they mirrored the others movements. It was as though they were performing their own pre-rehearsed routine._

_Félicie felt a hard tug on her braid, and fell backwards before she realised Camille had pulled her hair to sabotage her performance. But that didn’t deter her._

_She managed to catch up with her as they spun out into the foyer and leapt down one of the smaller staircases. But then suddenly there was a hard shove on her back, and she lost balance and botched her landing, falling to her knees as she felt the eyes of the audience bearing into her. She felt like crying, really._

_But then she looked up to see Odette and Mérante, both looking proud beyond compare. Odette nodded to her, eyes eager and encouraging, and though she said nothing Félicie knew what she had to do._

_She gestured to Camille to start stepping backwards en pointe, watching her grow more and more hesitant until she stopped completely._

_And with that, Félicie turned and leapt down the grand marble staircase._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also the next chapter js giving me grief >>


	23. Camille

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a while to edit. Camille felt way too much like a crybaby in the original version XD Though I will admit, her scenes were the best to write.

Despite having lived in her household for so long, Odette never saw much of Camille le Haute, especially after the death of her father. She was a child barely seen and never heard, constantly holed up in her bedroom, little more than a smirk or insult tossed out of her window, a stuck-up harrumph as she passed her in the hallway. 

And here she was, attempting to stand tall and act confident with her nose held high, carefully blank face and pigeon chest but still carrying a slight air of unease and uncertainty.

“Is Félicie here?” She kept her voice toneless, though still curious. 

Mérante raised his eyebrows and lowered his chin, looking down at her like a huge owl watching its prey. “Why do you want to see her?”

Camille didn’t miss a beat as she stared up at the decidedly intimidating headmaster with a brazen face. “I was wondering why she didn’t show up to her audition.”

“She’s ill.” He pulled himself up to his full height, bearing down on her with narrowed eyes. “I told you that earlier.”

Her eyes darted down, then up momentarily, and she swayed with nonchalance. “I... didn’t hear you, monsieur. I was too busy warming up.”

Mérante squinted in a way to show that he didn’t believe her. “And how did you know she was here?”

Camille gulped, feeling her façade tremble as she thought of a good excuse. “I... I guessed she might be with you, so I followed you.”

“I see.” 

She scuffed the toe of her shoe into the carpet, her eyes shifty. “Well... can I see her?” 

“Why?”

“I...” Seeming restless, Camille tried to peep around the imposing Maître and into the room, scowling when she caught sight of Odette. “Wait, what’s _she_ doing here?”

Mérante turned his head over his shoulder and stared back at the blonde child with a side-eye. “She’s a friend.”

Despite sitting a few feet away, Odette had never seen a person pale as rapidly as Camille le Haute did in that moment. 

“Let her in.” Her voice made Camille flinch and Mérante look round with quirked brows, before taking a step to the side. 

Camille stepped in, still trying to feign confidence despite her shoulders being high and hunched around her ears and her eyes darting about in their sockets as though she were expecting someone to ambush and rob her. 

“Why are you here?” 

The girl shied at the older woman’s cold tone, and she briefly dropped her charade to wipe her nose on her wrist before snapping back into her cool, uncaring persona. “I want to apologise. To Félicie.”

Odette frowned, straightening her back. “Apologise? Apologise for what?” 

“Well...” Camille seemed to shake herself, trying to regain whatever cockiness she had left. “I was really rude to her yesterday and I feel bad since she’s sick and-”

She finally noticed Félicie, pale and unconscious on the couch. Camille took a step forward, her cold façade slipping completely into genuine concern. “What... happened to her?”

“We found her on the roof last night...” Odette’s attention was diverted by a cough from Mérante, who made a quick gesture that he was taking leave. She nodded absently, turning her attention back to Camille, who'd glanced over her shoulder just as the door closed. 

The girl snapped back to face her, her young face the very picture of confusion. Odette continued, “We don’t really know why she went up there. Do you?”

“I...” Camille thought back to the previous day in class, and what her last encounter with Félicie had been like. Yes, she had been harsh, rude and possibly cruel. But she didn’t think her words had much effect, or would have this effect. The effect that drove someone to sit on a rooftop and fall ill, and if she’d had known Félicie would do that she wouldn’t have said them.

It took her a moment to register the confused tears slowly dripping down her cheeks.


	24. "Why do you dance?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean I wanted to call this chapter "Bullshit" but that was too mean.

_She was floating._

_Floating high above the lobby like a cloud, effortlessly stretched into a flawless grande jeté, Félicie could feel all eyes on her as she hovered over the length of the staircase. She felt free, exhilarated, as if she was the best dancer in Paris._

_She landed heavily before she even realised she was landing. Somehow, despite the height she had leapt from and the hard marble floor she’d landed on, she barely felt winded as she hit the ground._

_As she regained her breath and basked in the stunned applause, she heard a familiar rhythmic tap of Odette’s cane approaching from behind, and when she turned around she saw her two teachers and rival approaching._

_The look of utter defeat and dejection on Camille’s face told Félicie that she’d won the battle outright. Had she not been so ecstatic she probably would have felt bad for showing her up in front of the crowds of people now packed into the lobby._

_When she saw Mérante, she knew exactly what he was going to ask._

_“So ladies... why do you dance?”_

_Camille clammed up, trying to answer sincerely but was completely unable to. She hadn’t had the practice, the forewarning that this question was coming. She flunked her answer, sheepishly telling the Maître that she only danced to please her mother, garnering a sympathetic sigh from the audience._

_And then it was Félicie’s turn._

_She poured her heart into her answer, gushing about how her dream stemmed from her deceased mother, and how she had danced with her when she was a child. She told him dancing was her life, her passion, her dream, thanked Odette for all the help she’d given..._

_And when she finished talking, she knew she had the role in the bag._

_To her surprise, Camille herself succeeded the role to her rival with bleary eyes and a mature gulp, holding her hand out. Then, without warning, Félicie pulled her into an embrace to the applause of the patrons and staff around them._

_She pulled away, and turned to face Odette, seeing her dusky eyes brimming with pride and a smile across her face like nothing Félicie had ever seen before._

_And with that, she threw herself into her mentor’s arms._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yanno, no matter how many doubts I had whilst writing this fic...
> 
> This heals all of them tbh I hate this scene more than anything so dismissing it as a fever dream gave me a great sense of catharsis ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )


	25. Façade

Young mistresses were not supposed to cry, especially not over something as trivial as a colleague they barely knew (and didn’t like) being ill. Camille didn’t really know why she was crying at all. She just knew she was crying, in front of one of her mother’s old housemaids of all people, and that she was embarrassed but too overwhelmed to care.

She collected herself, sniffed loudly, wiped her drippy nose on her cuff, and avoided looking at the rather bemused ex-maid. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

Camille looked up at a confused Odette. “I... I shouldn’t cry in front of people.” She swallowed, her expression returning to its formerly blank state, clashing against her raw, tear stained and clearly emotion-marred face. “It’s rude.” 

With narrow eyes and a cold nod, Odette seemed to accept her explanation. “And what did you want to apologise for earlier?”

Camille stiffened. Truth be told, she really hadn’t come with the intention of apologising. No, she’d come to be mean, of course, to give her opponent a berating for having the audacity to miss her audition. And her tone had only changed when she knocked on the door to be confronted by Monsieur Mérante. After all, even she wouldn’t be rude to someone in front of a teacher, _especially_ him.

She hid a cough, straightening her back like she had been taught to. “I told you earlier, I’ve been horrible! To Félicie, I mean. I didn’t know why I did it, I didn’t mean to... mean to break...” She was losing her grip again, and she palmed at her eyes so fiercely she feared she’d leave a bruise, and she trembled with the strain of trying to maintain a cool, indifferent expression. 

“Didn’t mean to break what...?” Odette spoke slowly and deliberately, as though she were trying to understand the words herself.

 _Take a breath. Stop panicking._ “That music box she had. I didn’t mean to break it, I thought she could catch it...” Camille could feel her breathing rate increasing, and she struggled to get it under control before it escalated to hyperventilating as a realisation hit her. “If I didn’t break that music box, then I would’ve gotten into Monsieur Mérante’s class like I was supposed to, and none of this would have happened...” 

She hiccupped, violently wiping her tears away with the heel of her hand. “I feel stupid now... stupid and mean.” And what a horrible combination that was. Camille didn’t know it was possible to feel a dreadful as she did now. 

With a sigh and a slight eye roll, a still-somewhat confused Odette reached over to stroke the girl’s arm, trying to relieve any tension she could and coax her back into speaking out her troubles rather than crying them out.

And was caught off guard when Camille lurched forward, throwing her arms around her waist.

Odette waited an embarrassingly long time to snap out of her trance and envelope the girl in a tender hug, absently rocking her from side to side and shushing her gently.

Camille wanted to wriggle away and apologise profusely for crying again, and on top of that seeking affection from a _housemaid_ of all people. But she didn’t, instead dragging her legs closer so she could sit more comfortably. “Mother never hugs me. Not like this.”

Odette pursed her lips, holding back her quip that the revelation didn’t surprise her in the slightest. 

Camille continued. “I... sometimes watched you when you’d train her. And... I’d feel bad. You seemed so... patient, and fair, and...” She squeezed a fistful of Odette’s shirt. “I wish you were my teacher. Mother can be terribly harsh sometimes.”

“I’m sure if you asked Félicie she’d say I can be terribly harsh too.” 

“But you don’t hit Félicie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really loved writing this chapter tbh Camille is definitely one of my favourite characters to work with so far!


	26. The Chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to tackle the worst scene in the movie >:3c

_Félicie didn’t remember walking to Eiffel’s workroom a second time, finding herself standing in the doorway, wondering and worrying why she wasn’t rehearsing for the performance. She didn’t know the steps..._

_She dismissed the thought immediately when she saw Victor and his friend, talking idly until they noticed her. Victor quietly asked his friend to leave, to give them some privacy to chat, swaggering towards Félicie with a smug air. She quickly managed to change his tune, telling him how she’d be performing as the headline act at the opera, how she wanted him to be there to see her. He was delighted, of course, his excitement almost as infectious as her own, and he swayed around the workroom, rambling about how happy he was for her, about the crush he secretly had on her..._

_But as he stood by the doorway, he was suddenly whacked over the head._

_How Madame le Haute had found her here and why she was suddenly so hellbent or murdering her was a complete mystery to Félicie, and one she didn’t bother thinking about as she scrambled past and dodged a second swing of the wrench she wielded, winding up in the work-yard in front of the statue._

_Despite all logic telling her to bolt back through the workshop and into the street where she could potentially find help, she instead decided to corner herself and started climbing the scaffolding._

_The higher Félicie climbed, the more she regretted her stupid decision as the scaffold quaked and shuddered with every swing of the large wrench her attacker wielded. It seemed she had found an elevator to pursue her prey in. Why didn’t Félicie take the elevator? It was right next to the ladder!_

_As she precariously inched out onto the centre prong of the statue’s crown with Madame le Haute still unrelenting and hot on her heels, she realised just how done for she actually was. She could hear her slinging words at her, insults and comments meant to distract her. Or maybe she was just insane and ranting nonsensically. Both seemed likely._

_Just as Félicie was about to fall, she heard her attacker utter a line about how if she fell and injured herself, then she’d have something in common with Odette._

_Félicie didn’t know what that meant._

_She wobbled on the tip of the crown, feeling eerily unafraid given her situation. A sudden whooping caught her attention, and she looked around to find its source. Next thing she knew, Victor had swooped down on his chicken wings, plucking her from the jaws of certain death and sweeping her around the scaffold, which was now starting to crumble._

_The shower of debris and Madame le Haute’s determination to murder the pair of them made escaping close to impossible as they spiralled around the statue. They managed to shake her off eventually, and broke away from the soon-to-be wreckage, soaring off into the dusky sky and towards the domed roof of the Opera House._


	27. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is another favourite of mine!

_“But you don’t hit Félicie.”_

Odette grimaced, adjusting the angle of her hug. Of course, she knew all too well of the girl’s regimental dance training, how she’d been _bred_ to be a better dancer than most girls her age, even when she still had her father around to keep Régine’s more brutal training methods at bay. And of course, she knew of the... physical punishments for whenever the girl didn’t perform to the astronomical standards set for her. 

She’d been through it herself, after all. Spending many terse hours in rehearsal, silently terrified of making even a minor mistake lest they be caned across the wrist, forearm or (heaven forbid it) buttocks as a punishment. Even as an adult, the crack of a ruler or cane was enough to make her jump slightly.

She stroked Camille’s back gently. “I went through similar training when I was a dancer. I... don’t believe caning or hitting makes a dancer improve.” If anything she found the threat of caning made most dancers lose interest and spirit quickly, and the ones bold enough to stick around ended up stiff and rigid, doomed to a life in the lower quadrilles. Maybe that’s why so few of their top dancers were French...?

Camille pulled out, wiping her nose on her sleeve and staring up with huge stunned eyes. “You were a dancer?"

“I used to be.” 

The girl blinked, deciding now wasn’t the right time to pry into the past of the former housemaid. “Was mother a dancer too?”

Odette’s lips pursed in thought. “She was a teacher, but I don’t know if she was a dancer.” She probably was, now that she thought about it. Most, if not all, of the ballet instructors at the Opera had been dancers after all. “Even back then she was harsh. Maybe even harsher.”

Camille burrowed in closer, her voice muffled and quiet. “I don’t know if that’s possible...”

“Hm? What was that?”

Camille snapped shut. “Nothing.” Her eyes darted to one side then back up to Odette. “Were you a teacher as well?”

“No, just a dancer. And a cleaner.” 

“Well you _should_ be a teacher, because you’re really good. Mother never said it, but I could tell she was a bit worried that I’d lose to Félicie. It was very unlike her.” 

Odette kept her expression neutral, not wanting to give away the fact that Mérante only favoured Félicie due to their shared past and smiled placidly instead. “Thank you.”

Camille smiled back briefly, before pouting curiously and swaying her shoulders. “Would you... maybe train me?”

“You don’t need to be trained, you can already dance well. Very well in fact.”

“No, with my acting. Monsieur Mérante says I need help with my acting. Could you teach me?”

Odette twitched back, surprised yet flattered by the girl’s brazen question. “Well...”

“Later of course. But if you could give me some tips before I have to go rehearse...?” 

“Can you not ask Monsieur-” 

Camille shook her head furiously before Odette could even finish. “He doesn’t like me. He wouldn’t help me if I was the only coryphée in all of Paris.”

Odette rolled her eyes. “He’s like that to every-”

“No he’s not! He always picks on me and _only_ me. He’s never mean to Félicie or Nora. Never ever.”

“You haven’t known him for that long...”

“He didn’t even want me in his show! He wanted to get rid of me from the start!” Her face scrunched up, the tears returning. “It’s because of Mother. Nobody likes her so nobody likes me either.”

Odette’s lips pursed and her shoulders slumped, a heavy pang of guilt radiating through her as she remembered the deal. She should have stepped in, told her former partner not to gamble a child’s future on her measly job and let herself be rightly sacked. After all, he was able to find her a new residence remarkably quickly. Losing her apartment was hardly an issue in the end.

She smiled weakly. “Alright. I’ll give you a few tips...” 

A knock on the door thankfully gave her a few more seconds to think of said tips.

Mérante leaned in. “Ah, Mademoiselle Camille, you’re still here.” He straightened up to his full height. “You’re late for the first rehearsal.”

Camille shot a look at Odette, eyes wide and pleading. Odette turned her head between them both in a slight panic, before finally facing Mérante. “Could you give us a little more time?”

His eyebrows rose slowly. “Five minutes.”

She nodded wryly, turning her attention back to the wide-eyed girl waiting by her side. “I’ll teach you properly when I can, but for now I just want you to remember this when you’re dancing. Try and think about your character and incorporate her into your movements.”

“But how...?”

“Read up on the story, try and learn about her, think about how she might feel as the story goes on. That’s what I used to do. And if all else fails...” She cupped her cheek, smiling until Camille smiled back at her. “Then just don’t forget to smile.”

Her eyes flicked over to the door, where Mérante was still politely waiting. “Now run along, you have a rehearsal to get to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A headcanon that's mentioned but not entirely explored because I want to keep these chapters short and un-rambly: Camille _really_ doesn't trust Mérante (one because he threatened to ban her from his class if Odette was sacked and two because in this version of the story he almost refuses to let her perform in his show) 
> 
> She's also somewhat scared of him I mean watch her in that finding out scene and see how she flinches when he starts talking.


	28. Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This is the longest chapter.  
> It's also the penultimate chapter.  
> And since it's so long you'll have to wait for the last instalment XD

_Félicie’s excitement bubbled out from her as she walked into the wings, now fully changed into a beautiful white and red costume, in contrast to the drab practice clothes her classmates wore. Victor trotted along beside her, fully recovered from his head injury and both of them acting like whatever had just happened at the scaffold simply hadn’t happened._

_They met up with Odette and Mérante, who seemed more like proud parents than ever as they congratulated and briefed their shared student for the performance. Félicie noticed she was wearing Odette’s old red shoes, which somehow fitted her despite them not being tailored for a child at all._

_On a spur of the moment, she tested her new shoes by hopping up on pointe to kiss Victor lightly on the cheek._

_Hurrying onto the stage, she took her place beside that wonderful dancer who placed a silver tiara on her head, smiling and patting her shoulder to ease her sudden onset of stage-fright._

_“Let’s set Paris on fire.”_

_They took their positions._

_The curtain went up._

_And when she started dancing, it suddenly dawned on her._

_She had done it._

_She had made it._

_She had achieved her dream._

_She was on stage at the Paris Opera, dancing in front of a massive audience alongside the best dancer of her day. She was the headlining act, the lead role, the star of the show. She’d accomplished everything she’d set out to do._

_And as she spun on the stage, feeling the music take over her body, the spotlights seemed to get brighter and brighter..._

“Oh? Are you coming round?”

_The light was painfully bright now, and she writhed and whimpered in pain, covering her eyes with her arm as she tried to guess what had just happened. Had she fainted? Had she tripped?_

“How are you feeling?”

_Someone was stroking her head, and from the voice she assumed it was Odette. That reassured her. She must have just fainted on stage, which was embarrassing of course but hardly the worst thing that could happen..._

“Can you hear me...?”

_Odette sounded worried. Had she just fainted? She didn’t feel as though she was hurt..._

“Y-Yeah...” _She noticed how thick and chesty her voice sounded, and how deadly quiet the room was. Was she still on stage? She felt like she was laying on some kind of bed._ “Odette, where am I...?”

“In a dressing room.” 

_Félicie made a nonchalant chirp in response, weakly nodding and un-shielding her eyes._

She immediately noticed how bedraggled and tired Odette looked; her usually prim hair was in disarray around her face, her eyes were sunken and slightly grey around the edges, and she wasn’t wearing her red vest, even though she’d been wearing it before she’d took to the stage.

“What happened...?” Talking was a lot harder than usual, and her voice was barely above a whisper.

“You fell asleep on the roof.” Odette leaned in closer, tucking Félicie’s stray, tangled curls behind her ear, her eyebrows sloping in concern. “Don’t you remember that?”

Félicie furrowed her brows weakly. “But that was forever ago?” What did that night have to do with tonight?

Odette frowned. “It was last night.”

“No it wasn’t...?” She pushed herself up, only to find herself dizzy and unstable before she collapsed against Odette’s shoulder. “I was on stage just then. I fainted, didn’t I?”

Odette shook her head; a sad smile creeping onto her face as she gently eased Félicie back down into her nest of blankets. “You must have been dreaming.”

“Dreaming...?” Félicie’s face crumpled. It couldn’t have been a dream! Dreams were fleeting, and weird, and nothing made sense. Her memory was vivid, and real and it simply _couldn’t_ have just been a dream.

_Right...?_

Odette kissed her forehead, teasing her red hair out of its very scruffy and sleep-mussed braid. “Some dreams can seem very real, dear.” And by _God_ , did Odette know that from experience. It only took one nightmare to brutally remind her of a night she’d rather forget, for her to wake up in a cold sweat and out of breath, wishing she had someone nearby to hold _her_ tight and stroke _her_ hair.

Félicie’s voice pitched high and tearful, straining her throat till it ached. “But it was real...! It was real, I swear!” She stopped to cough heartily, further exhausting herself and finally feeling reality set in and she sniffled, looking up at sympathetic Odette with flushed and tired eyes. “It... it really was a dream, wasn’t it?”

“Yes dear.” The disappointed pout on the girls face made Odette chuckle, and she playfully twisted a lock of her red hair around in her hand. “I take that it was a nice dream, then?”

That made Félicie’s forehead creased up in thought; suddenly realising that her once "real" dream had been a lot more bizarre than she had felt it. “It was... weird.” 

“How come?” 

“I dreamt... I got sent home and, and when I came back... Camille and I had this dance battle and I jumped down the big staircase in the foyer...” 

Odette interrupted with a slight scoff. “You jumped down a staircase? And you didn’t immediately think it was a dream?”

Félicie laughed back, perking up. “Yeah I guess that was pretty silly. Oh!” She eased herself upright, holding Odette’s hands to support herself. “And then, Camille said I should have the role, and then we suddenly became best friends, and then like... her mom got mad at me and tried to kill me by throwing me off a building...” 

“Oh, come on, I know she’s an old witch but she isn’t that bad, Félicie. Besides...” She leaned in with a wink and a smirk. “Her corset is so tight, she can’t even climb the stairs without fainting.”

That prompted a loud laugh from the girl, finally returning a warm glow to her cheeks. “I bet she would if she could though!” 

Dark eyes rolled in gentle amusement. “Did anything else happen in this wonderful dream?”

Félicie’s brows creased and she sunk down into the pillows and blankets around her, her voice becoming quieter and more sombre. “I... dreamt I met my mom. At least I think it was her. But I dreamt I saw her.”

Odette leaned in, tender and attentive, her arm wrapping around Félicie’s back and pulling her close to rest her cheek in her student's hair. “What was she like?” 

“She was...” She struggled to recall the details of her dream, what her mother had looked like. “Pretty, and happy, and she was dancing, and it was so sunny...” A thought suddenly stopped her in her tracks, and she paused with fresh tears pooling in her eyes. “Why... why would she abandon me then?”

Odette rubbed her back, leaning her head against Félicie’s. “I don’t know.”

Félicie wriggled out of the embrace, looking up at her guardian with a wide-eyed and terrified expression. “Odette? You wouldn’t ever abandon me, would you?”

Odette’s face pulled up into a shocked smile, and she squeezed the girls hand to reassure her. “No dear. Of course I wouldn’t.” She pressed a kiss against her temple, lingering on it just long enough to prove her point. “What makes you ask that?” 

“Well my real mom abandoned me for no reason...”

“Do I have a reason?”

Félicie swallowed hard. “Your flat.”

Odette chuckled, stroking the girls hair with her neatly-kept nails. “Régine was going to sack me regardless of whether or not you got that role, believe me. She’s been waiting to get rid of me for years.” She smiled softly, kissing Félicie’s forehead yet again to reassure her. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But... where are we gonna live?”

“Mérante will find somewhere for us. I can assure you of that.”

Félicie hummed, then pouted. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” 

“You and Mérante... were you like, together at some point?”

A light blush spread across Odette’s cheeks as she laughed softly yet sadly into herself. “We used to be dance partners back in the day...”

“Just dance partners?” Félicie’s face was still somewhat pale and tired, yet her smirk still shone out as mischievous and knowing as ever.

“Yes, just dance partners.” But as a smile came onto her face, they both fell into hushed, tired giggles. “But we were close.” Very close. She knew she’d probably already given away the fact she and Mérante had been romantically together by body language alone. But it didn’t matter. She was too tired and relieved to even care.

Félicie eased herself back onto the sofa, flopping back into the cushions. She felt oddly restless, as though her long sleep had filled her with her usual boundless energy, but at the same time she felt heavy and ill, with a forehead that felt far too warm, hands that felt too cold, a tight chest and sinuses that felt stuffed with rags. 

A thought came to her. “How’d you know I was on the roof?” After all, she’d thought it was off-limits to adults, a place where only the students would go to be away from the tedium and pressure of their classes. Grown-ups like Odette simply weren’t supposed to know about the roof.

“Your Russian friend told us you’d be there.” 

It took Félicie a moment to realise who she meant. “Rudi? He came looking for me?” That at least explained how they’d found her. But why had Rudi come looking for her...?

“He did, yes.” The odd look in Félicie’s tired eyes made Odette frown in concern. “Is something wrong?”

“Did... Victor not come looking for me?”

“He’s the scruffy brown-haired boy right?” Félicie nodded. “No, he hasn’t come by.”

Félicie slumped, confusion spreading over her face and barely reacting when she felt her head being stroked gently. “He probably doesn’t know you were ill. If you want I can send someone to fetch him...?” 

The girl shook her head. “I don’t like my friends seeing me when I’m sick.” 

Odette nodded, deciding to keep the fact both Camille and Rudolf had seen her to herself. “I understand.” 

Félicie yawned, then frowned as another, final, thought came to her. “Hey... I missed the audition, didn’t I?”

“Yes dear. You’ve been out cold since last night.” 

“Did Camille get the role then?”

“No. Another girl got it. I... think Mérante said her name was Nora? Do you know her?”

Félicie perked up significantly. “Oh! Yeah, she’s a friend from class.” She frowned. “What happened to Camille though?” After all, it was strange how she lost the audition. She was perfect! How did she lose?

“She has another role. You’ve been offered one too.”

“As what?” She pretty much jumped up, eyes as bright and excited as her poorly state would allow.

“A snowflake.” 

Félicie deflated. “A snowflake...?” She said the word as though she were performing the role of a rat. “But... that’s a corps role!”

“Don’t look so disappointed! A lot of great dancers started off in the corps. _I_ started out in the corps.” She stroked the girl’s hair out of its braid. “Just because it isn’t the lead role, doesn’t mean you aren’t destined for greatness.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better...”

“Of course I am. But I’m not lying.” She eased the girls face up, locking her dusk-blue eyes with her exhausted leaf-green ones. “I felt the same as you back when I was a dancer. Every night, I would watch other girls take the lead roles. Friends, rivals, girls I barely knew, all dancing in the spotlight whilst I stayed in the background. And then finally, I was offered a lead role.”

“How old were you then?”

“Sixteen.” She traced the bridge of Félicie’s nose with a smile. “You’ll be in that lead role before you know it.”

 _Sixteen?_ “But that’s years away!” 

“Patience is a virtue in this profession, dear. It’s just as important as practice and passion. Maybe even more so.” Odette sighed and smiled wearily, stroking Félicie’s disappointed cheek. “I know the lead role is what you set out to get, but let it go this time. There will always be another chance, another stab at that lead. And you know what you need to do next time?”

Félicie’s eyes lit up. “What?”

“You stay in and train like I told you to.”

“How did I know you were gonna say that...?”


	29. Fin

“Are you nervous?”

Félicie fiddled with the spangles and beads of her snowflake outfit, grinding the box of her shoe into the floor. “Kinda.” 

“I know the feeling. If it helps, you won’t see the audience at all.” Though she hadn’t danced under electric stagelights herself, if the candle lighting she’d performed to had been enough to obscure her view of anything beyond the orchestra pit, then the improved electric lighting surely would.

“Y-yeah I guess...”

“Are... you still upset about not getting the lead role?” It wasn’t much of a secret that it still bothered her after all. She’d been in a permanent sulk throughout each rehearsal, watching bitterly as her two chosen classmates practiced for their specially written, non-corps roles.

Félicie stared absently at the spot beside Odette; shoulders high and tense and her nose beginning to drip. With an affectionate roll of her knowing eyes, Odette knelt down and opened her arms, allowing her student to walk into her embrace and sombrely lean her head against hers. 

She stroked the girl’s back, smoothing the satin of her snowflake dress. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not really...” The girl’s voice was muffled against her mentor’s shoulder.

“Are you crying...?” Not that Odette needed to ask. The damp patch on her blouse told her that either Félicie’s eyes or nose were leaking.

“No..!” Félicie pulled back, wiping her suspiciously sniffly nose on her forearm. “It’s... dust. I’m allergic to dust.”

Odette rolled her eyes, smiling sarcastically. “The amount of times I’ve heard that...” She ran her thumb beneath the girl’s eye to wipe away any tears which may have collected there. “I know you’re still disappointed, but just... go out there, do your best and have fun. You’ll be in that lead before you know it!”

She sniffled again. “No, it’s not the role this time, I swear...”

“What’s upsetting you then?”

“I just... I’d just hoped that Victor might have come to see me dance but...” Well, Lord knew the boy couldn’t afford a theatre ticket and her attempts to smuggle him backstage had ended in him being dragged out by the collar of his grimy shirt. “He said he’d try to find his own way in but I haven’t seen him...”

“I see...” She squeezed the girls shoulder, smiling a sad and sympathetic smile. “A lot of my friends didn’t make it to my first performance. My own parents didn’t even come. But I told them there would always be other chances to see me perform.” She stroked down Félicie’s arm. “Perhaps when you get that lead role, he’ll be able to come see you.”

“Maybe...” She finally looked back at Odette, wiping away her tears and smiling her trademark grin. “You know, I’ve never properly said it but... thank you. For everything.”

“It’s nothing, my dear-”

“No, really. Without you I would never have gotten here. I probably would’ve just... gotten caught and sent to an orphanage somewhere, and I’d be lonely and miserable and...” She started to cry again, but her face stayed smiling. “You’re... you’re really special, you know. I know when I got mad I said you weren’t my mom but... you really are my mom. Or you’re what I think a mom would be like.”

Odette went quiet; her lips slightly parted in stunned silence. She’d never really paid it much thought after everything chasing Félicie’s ballet dream had put her through, and considering everything that had happened she thought it was a miracle she didn’t throw the girl back onto the street the moment she barged her way into the ballet academy. Yet somehow, she’d kept the girl around, and could never pinpoint if it was down to loneliness, boredom, a never-before-realised desire to care for a child... 

Or maybe she just needed someone to rekindle her love of music and dancing. And Félicie had done just that. 

She smiled, tucking a hugged-out tuft of Félicie’s hair back into its bun. “I never told you either, but...” Her eyes grew wistful, yet not tearful. “You’ve given me a part of my life back that I’d lost years ago.” 

“And you’ve given me something I forgot I wanted.” Or never realised she wanted. Way back at the orphanage, the idea of someone willingly wanting to look after her and be her parent had constantly slipped her mind, or been forced to the back of it in lieu of daydreaming about dancing. She sniffed back again, her wide smile trying hard not to tremble. “Thank you.”

Odette kneeled back, cupping her student’s cheek. “I never told you how proud I was of you either, did I?” Félicie shook her head, bowing forward so her guardian could press a gentle kiss just below her hairline, accompanied with a shoulder rub of encouragement. “Well I am. I’m very proud.” 

Her pride was softly interrupted when Félicie jumped into a hug again, throwing her arms around her neck and squeezing her tightly. Odette laughed quietly, before she hugged back, losing herself in their tender little moment.

“I apologise for the interruption...” They both jolted up to see Mérante leaning over them, smiling sheepishly. “But if you wouldn’t mind, we’re almost about to start...”

“Already?” Félicie quickly pulled out, palming the tears and redness away from her eyes and bobbing with anticipation. The thought of being a “boring” corps girl didn’t seem as bad when she was about to step on stage, it seemed.

“Yes, already.” He motioned to the excitable gaggle of other snowflakes waiting by the wings. “I trust you know the routine by now?”

Félicie rolled her eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Because you didn’t quite know it yesterday...” How the girl had gotten to the day before opening night without knowing half her steps was a mystery, even if she took the first week of rehearsal off to recover from her stint on the roof. But somehow, she had. 

Said girl pouted smugly. “I know it now! Just ask Odette, she’ll tell you we practiced all evening yesterday.”

“We did.” Odette nodded in confirmation, patting Félicie’s back gently. “She could dance it in her sleep by now.”

“I’m sure you could.” He tapped her shoulder, nodding towards the other snowflakes. “Run along now. A good dancer is never late.” 

“Aye aye, sir!” And with that, she scurried off into the group, nearly colliding with another girl as she skidded to an ungraceful halt. 

Odette stared at her absently, still kneeling on the wooden floor until a familiar hand was offered in front of her. “You’re not going to see much from down there, my dear.”

She laughed, allowing Mérante to pull her up. “I don’t think we’ll see much anyway.”

“But you’ll see less even on the floor.” 

She offered her old smirk in response, standing close to her old partner. Close enough for him to rest his hand on her lower back; high enough to be polite yet low enough to be teasing and flirtatious. 

“You’re in a good mood tonight, aren’t you?” She mused, noting how calm and at ease he was considering he was premiering a new ballet, and how most other choreographers would be sweating to death with nerves. Not that she was complaining, as she leaned her head on his shoulder, taking in the scent and softness of his heavy jacket.

“I’m always in a good mood when I’m with you, my dear.” He was surprised she never remembered that. Even on the night Félicie fell asleep on the roof he’d noticed how her presence had calmed him, especially when dealing with that Russian boy. “You should know that.”

“It’s been so long. A person forgets things with time.” 

Mérante mused, his dark eyes transfixed on the bright red-haired snowflake twirling on stage. “You’re a tremendous teacher, you know. To get her to that standard in such a short amount of time...” There was a notion of pride in his voice, either for his student who’d started off with all the grace of a wounded pigeon, only to now be performing in an actual production that he himself had written, or for his former muse who’d taken the girl under her wing, and trained her, despite having rejected all things associated with dancing after the accident. But his pride was there, loud and clear.

Had her head not been so comfortable on Mérante’s shoulder, Odette would have shrugged nonchalantly. “She wanted to learn. That helped.” Most of the time. She and Félicie had made an agreement to never speak of the night she rejected practice to go on a “date” again.

“A will to learn and a fantastic teacher go hand-in-hand, my dear. You yourself should know that.” His arm slipped around her waist, pulling her closer so he could kiss her gently on her crown.

She let out a soft gasp, looking up at him with a startled and pleasant smile. “What was that for?”

“You deserve it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand that's a wrap! 
> 
> (You thought I wasn't gonna do the kiss eh ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ))

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Papergarden for being the beta reader for this!


End file.
